


Return to Sender

by borlaaq



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Alien Biology, Bag A Legend Spoilers, Dirty Talk, Knotting, Large Cock, Other, POV Second Person, Size Difference, Teasing, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Veils being almost human but not quite, they actually use lube!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borlaaq/pseuds/borlaaq
Summary: The Intriguer has to remind you who’s really in charge.
Relationships: Mr Veils (Fallen London)/Original Character(s), Mr Veils/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Return to Sender

Sometimes Mr Veils sends you a message more enciphered than the normal dispatches you receive. It's often inconvenient and annoying, given Veils already is so anal about its letters to you. 

It takes hours to decipher these letters and you're just left more... frustrated. Although in a very different way.

Veils likes to tease you. 

These letters aren't secrets or blackmail. They aren't reminders to collect the taxes on silk from the woman in Spite who is always behind. They aren't recommendations or referrals for your next step in the Great Game and your political career (—which, you should remind it, was not your choice. You are a monster hunter.)

You're getting off track: these letters are downright _scandalous_. 

Its handwriting is perfection and you can practically feel how cocky it is when it writes. It sprays each letter with its cologne. The postal worker thought you had finally gotten an admirer. Perhaps you have, with how the deciphered letters have Veils describing how it got a prince drunk and slept with him. And how the prince reminded it of _you_. 

_‘He was naive. But, oh, how his flesh gave under my teeth! I found myself wondering, would you hide my marks like he did? Or would you wear them as a badge of pride for days after?’_

The lewd details make you dig your nails into the table. How it tells you what it would do to you. How it brags about bedding royals of every gender to pry their secrets from them. At first you could easily ignore these types of letters from Veils, but as time stretched on, you found yourself reaching for the box you hid them in while you have a hand shoved between your legs. 

You feel guilty for falling for such an obvious trap. You always make sure to let Veils know you will not be used by it and it should stick to strictly business in its correspondence with you. Veils is using you, of course, and you refuse to fall for it. It is _your_ agent. You bested it and you could easily kill it even now. 

— And yet your heart skips a beat when your eyes follow the careful curves of its penmanship. You bite your lip, fidgeting in place. You always know when the letter is going to be lewd because of how obscure the types of code it uses to hide the meanings. It's a game for the two of you.

_‘You know, dear, I cannot help but miss being called Veils. Last week, a woman moaned the name I am using up here, breath warm in my ear, but all I wanted was to hear your voice calling me by my proper title!’_

You almost stop reading to go get some fresh air, your skin heated. But the postscript addition catches your eye. It’s a simple cypher so you quickly translate: _‘I will be visiting London in the fortnight. I have sent in an order to my tailor. Pick it up and wear it when you meet me at the House of Chimes.’_

Now, that’s a new move in this Game.

—

You don’t know what to expect from the Tailor. Veils has expensive taste but its own suits it wears on the Surface are usually bland. You tap your fingers on the counter as you wait for the Seamstress to finish altering whatever it ordered for you. 

You are perhaps a bit anxious. 

Finally, you are handed the paper bag. “Mr Veils requested you do not open it until you put it on just before you meet it.” There’s a wink from the Tailor. “I’ve never seen Mr Veils order something for someone else. And this was expensive. You are a lucky lad.”

You want to die of embarrassment.

—

It's an evening suit. 

You let out a breath. At least that is something you are comfortable with. You would kill Veils if it tried to get you in a dress. (—Maybe if the two of you were alone you would indulge it, and how quickly you push that thought out of your mind.)

A Whisper Satin coat that mumbles about the fights you had with the Vake, shoes polished enough you can almost see your reflection, a waistcoat dyed in what could only be violant. There’s garters to hold your socks up and another set to hold the white undershirt down. The whole outfit has lace accents and nicely pressed frills. It's black and violant and is sure to draw attention. The buttons are all peligin bone, polished and perfect. 

The drawers provided are scandalously short, barely coming down to your upper thighs. They are silky and cold on your skin, giving you goosebumps. You spend a good hour making sure you have put on correctly and another thirty minutes trying to figure out what to do with your hair. There is no hat provided so you don’t bother to find one of your own either. After a moment of debate, you do tuck one of your knives into the strap at your leg. 

This is still the Vake despite its honeyed words and the way your traitorous heart pounds. 

—

It's only as you are walking to the House of Chimes do you notice something in the pocket of your coat. You fish it out and nearly drop it in shock. 

A jaguar ring. The only finger it fits on is your left ring finger. You feel your face heat up. You don't put it on, instead stuffing it back into your pocket. You hurry on your way, trying to forget you ever found it.

The doorman at the House of Chimes greets you with a smile. You feel too known, too seen. Of course you have a reputation now, but this is different. This is clearly a _date_ with Mr Veils and everyone is very aware. 

“A private room has been prepared for you. If you will just follow me, I'll show you there. Your companion has already arrived.”

“We’re co-workers.” You correct firmly. The doorman doesn't reply as they lead you into the House and up a flight of stairs. You are shown to a closed door and they give a shallow bow before leaving. You stand outside the door for probably five minutes before you get the nerve to let yourself in. 

The room is well-lit, to your surprise. You had expected something… obviously romantic. You let out a breath of relief. The soft music that is playing isn't dramatic either. It's a style you can't make out but it sounds familiar.

Veils is sitting at the large table, looking bored as it picks at the finger-foods around the plate of the main course. It perks up when you enter, flashing you a smirk of almost-too-sharp teeth. (You try not to think of how they would feel when they catch on your lips.)

"Thank you for joining me. I have a few things to discuss that are better suited for an in-person meeting." You take your seat opposite of it and it quickly pours you a glass of absinthe, bright green and obviously not Black Wings. You raise an eyebrow. "Oh? Have your tastes changed?" It's tone is teasing and you feel yourself blush. You snatch the glass from its hand. 

"Not the same without your blood." You drink it straight and immediately regret it. It burns and you try not to choke. After drinking Black Wings for so long, you had forgotten how regular Absinthe is. You immediately feel yourself start to get tipsy. 

It chuckles, scooting the spoon, sugar, and water towards you. "Perhaps I could help with that." It's voice drops to a purr that nearly makes you drop the spoon as you get the Absinthe Ritual set up. It smirks at you from behind the rim of its own glass as it takes a sip. It has wine for itself and a quick glance at the table shows that both bottles are from the Surface. 

"Did you pay Wines the taxes on these?" You ask, trying to change the topic as you pick up the wine bottle to look closer. Port Wine. An expensive one at that. Veils always did have expensive tastes. The absinthe is the same. It must be making good money at its current job as an ambassador.

"I'm not paying Wines anything after it delivered your special concoction." It growls, the human tone almost completely gone before it coughs. "We'll keep these gifts our little secret. From me to you." 

"This is a business meeting." You blurt out quickly. 

"Of course." It responds smoothly. "Did you want it to be more? It _is_ almost the anniversary of our little partnership…" Its eyes glow in the low lighting, voice playful.

You flush, coughing as you almost choke on your drink. You shake your head, motioning quickly for it to get on with it. 

It wipes its hands off before pulling out some papers. The two of you discuss French scandals while you eat. It talks of rumors and tragedy, all of which it had a hand in. Dessert is accompanied with news of war in the Americas. It tells you it may head over there to see the sights. It cares not for the money and hands you a large envelope. Its spywork is impeccable as always. 

You try to ignore when its foot brushes against your ankle, pushing up your pant leg with the pointed tip of its shoes. It brushes against your socks before pulling away. This happens several times and every time you have to suppress a shudder.

(Look: you are touch-starved and have been since before all this. You don't need the judgement but you may need to pay Jenny a visit.)

When Veils starts talking about the innate eroticism of the currently underrated novel _Dracula_ , you stop it from refilling its wine glass. "Turn up the music will you." You say instead.

It meets your gaze, eyebrow cocked. You are playing its Game now. It stands, grabbing its cane, and goes over to the phonograph. It makes a show of removing the fabric it had put over the horn to dampen the sound. (You try not to let your eyes take in its figure. Its curves are sharp and dangerous, even in this human form. It's suit hugs its form and you have failed at not staring.) Once removed, you can recognize the song. 

"You got someone to record the Urchins." You seem to have caught it off guard and it doesn't turn to face you. The tips of its ears are red. It's a nice look. You can't help but laugh. 

"It's not about the Neath," it says quickly. "The song is about the High Wilderness. Only Urchins blessed by Storm can sing it." It shoots you a glare. There are very few secrets between the two of you, now, and that makes you grin. 

"You are awfully well trained, now. You don't even try to lie." You can't help but tease. It sneers but quickly shakes its head. 

It sways a bit as it walks over to you, and instead of taking its seat, it holds out a hand. "Let me show you how they dance on the Surface." 

"You sure your joints are up to that?" 

You are surprised that it doesn't show any more irritation. It is better at this Game that you had given it credit for. "Perhaps you should lead, then." It purrs.

Your mouth is dry. Yes, it is much better at this than you. You realize you should have expected that. It takes on the form of an old gentleman, but it is clearly in touch with the more… sophisticated tactics of seduction. (You had been trying not to think of it as such, but there is really no denying it.)

You stand up, not taking its hand but instead grabbing its hip and pulling it close. The dance starts awkwardly with it still being taller than you and it is rather vocal about giving you pointers. You eventually find a pace that matches the music and shuts it up, so you consider that a win. Its body is warm under your hands, inhuman only when you feel its joints move strangely.

It's elegant in its monstrosity. You had always looked up to it as an inspiration in your own hunting. Your throat is tight. You are staring, thumbs rubbing circles against its hips over the fabric of its suit. Its own hands are digging into your shoulders, drawing you closer. It brushes its mouth against your ear. The music sounds far away. You are dizzy on its scent, cologne and musk. It's different than when it was a Master or a Curator. You lean into its form.

For the briefest moment, you feel wings around you.

And then Veils hooks its foot around your ankle and you fall to the ground. You yelp and it shoves you to your knees, holding you there. You are too shocked to fight, eyes flashing up to look at it. It smirks, fisting its hand in your hair. Your hands are still grasping its hips and it tilts them forward.

Its clothed erection presses against your face, hot and heavy as it strains against its slacks. Its shoe presses to your own crotch and you feel a shock of pleasure and adrenaline. You are painfully hard, the pressure also making you aware of how wet you are. You can't bite back the moan, can't stop yourself from nuzzling its cock and inhaling the scent.

You'll blame this on the alcohol in the morning but, right now, you are too far gone.

“You don’t know how much I’ve longed for you,” it growls, and its voice makes your skin feel tight. “To dominate you. To make you _mine_ . You are the strongest Monster Hunter in the Neath and I’ve made you _bow_.”

Your gaze flashes up to meet its own. Its skin is flushed, mouth open just a bit. Its eyes are wide and wild. It licks its lips. You've gotten under its skin, as if the erection pressed to your cheek wasn't evidence enough. It cracks a smirk when you meet its eyes and it brings a hand to its mouth. 

You're hypnotized as it takes the tip of one of the fingers of its gloves between its fangs. Your eyes watch the skin of its wrist, and then its hand, be revealed. It's like a strip tease and your breath hitches. You realize you've never seen any of its skin besides its face. Even its neck is usually covered for the most part under high collars. 

Slowly, tantalizing, it repeats the process with each finger before letting the glove fall to the floor. You lick your lips. It moves on to the other hand. Its scent is all around you and it smells just like the letters. You swallow and shift on your knees. You try to close your eyes to catch your breath, but Veils presses its shoe against your crotch. Its heel gives you wonderful pressure and you can't help but whine. 

You get the hint to keep watching and it rewards you by tangling a bare hand into your hair. It tugs at the roots before dragging its fingers through.

When its other hand is naked, it brings it to your face and cradles your cheek. Its thumb brushes over your lip and you turn your head to kiss the stub of its missing finger before ducking down to lick its wrist, just barely nipping at the sensitive flesh you find there. It makes a strangled sound and rips its hand away. You feel the heat of its cock as it twitches in its slacks. 

You can't help but mouth along the outline, leaving hot and wet marks on the grey fabric. You hear it give a sharp inhale. You smirk against it; your turn to catch it off guard. Its hand tightens in your hair, pressing you closer. You work your way to the head, where you notice with pride a wet spot is already forming. 

"Undress me." It commands breathlessly. 

At any other time you would have scoffed at the demand, especially from _Veils_ , but you are much too worked up to argue. You need its bare skin under your hands. You kneel lower to untie its shoes, pressing a kiss to each one. Your hands venture up its pant-legs briefly, digging into its calves before you reach up to put your mouth back to its crotch. It kicks its shoes behind it and you can feel it watching you. 

You give it a show. 

You have a talented tongue. Usually you use it for spinning lies or tying cherry stems into knots to impress the Society ladies. (Look: you were raised through hard labor and are better fitted to the docks and the Zee so you need all the help you can get in your new found position. Who knew being a Vake Hunter would turn you into a politician?) You let your tongue trace the line of its cock, taking in how alien it is. It's not human and you want to see it more than ever now. 

Your mouth moves higher, taking the button of its trousers into your mouth. You glance up, wink, and undo its pants with your tongue. It gives a low chuckle, one that reverberates in its chest. You feel it in your own cock. It's a nice sound. You pull back enough to hook your fingers under its waistband. You tug down just barely, so you can dig your nails into its sharp hip bones. It suddenly steps out of your grip, slipping through your fingers like a shadow. You nearly fall into your face but it grabs your necktie, pulling you to your feet. You hiss, air abruptly being cut off. 

"Undress me." It repeats firmly. "But do not touch me or you will be punished." 

You roll your eyes and it responds with a firm tug. You stumble closer, raising up onto your toes to lessen the pressure around your neck. You don't give it the satisfaction of struggling, but you are very aware the two of you are chest to chest. It leans down. Its lips brush yours. 

"Well?" It asks and you can feel the word against your mouth. You part your lips and taste its breath. Its eyes flash briefly to the side and you follow the gaze. Its wooden-knob-handled cane is within arm's reach. It gives your ass a squeeze. 

"Fine." You glare, trying not to sound breathless, trying not to show how badly you want it to kiss you. It smirks and straightens up. Its lips are too far away. 

Maybe later you will find out how that cane feels against your thighs, but tonight you allow it this victory. You struggle at first, trying not to let your fingers wander as you loosen its necktie and then each button of its jacket and finally, its shirt. It scolds you a few times as you accidentally run a finger over one of its various scars as you reveal more skin. You are practically shaking with anticipation by the time you get just its top layers off. 

You swallow, digging your nails into your palms to hold back. Shirtless, it is angled and knifelike. Ribs and lithe muscle. Its chest hair and happy trail are salt and pepper and it is covered in scars. You want to run your tongue over each one. It doesn't have any tattoos, strange for a spy in the Great Game.

"I still seem to have my pants on." Veils tells you. You don't even need to look up to know its smirking.

(— Oh, you don't know if you can slip its trousers off without wanting to wrap your hand or mouth around its cock. Your mouth waters just thinking about it.

You can't. It has already won, anyway.) 

You hook your fingers into its belt loops, tugging it into you. You jump up, wrapping your legs around its waist and it stumbles back. It growls as you shove your mouth to its own, catching itself from falling by leaning against the table. You barely comprehend the sound of dishes crashing. You bite its lip, diving your tongue into its mouth. It returns the kiss with vigor, hands digging into your ass. Its teeth graze your own lip before it sucks on it. You roll your hips and it makes a sharp noise. 

"Bed." It snarls, not even prying its mouth away. " _Now_." 

You realize it probably can't carry you so you scramble off it. It chases your lips, clawing at your own clothes as it guides you towards the bed at the back of the room. You break the kiss only to help remove your tops and then the backs of your knees hit the bed. It shoves off its own pants as you fall backwards, scooting up. It descends onto you, hungry, ravenous. You dodge its lips, leaning up to instead nip and suck at its neck. It shudders, allowing you to explore. 

Your tongue follows the taunt lines of its neck down so you can nose at the hollow of its collarbone. You run your palms down its chest, inhaling its scent. Its smell reminds you of the Surface Air just before a storm, tinged with ozone and electricity. It presses its knee between your thighs and you roll your hips against it. Finally your hands reach its cock and you squeeze it. It makes a strangled gasp, panting as it thrusts into your hands. 

You can't angle yourself to see it, instead you use your hands to map it out. It's tapered, with a thick base and narrower head. It's fevered and sticky, throbbing in your grip. You bring one of your hands back up to lick off its slick. It's watching, mouth open slightly as it pants. You savor the taste, sucking each of your fingers. It tastes addicting, leaving your tongue tingling.

It grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. It's kissing you again, and its free hand gropes at your chest. It must be able to feel your scars, because it traces them with a nail. Your back arches and you let out an embarrassing keening sound. You feel it smirk against your lips and repeats the action with more pressure. 

"Sensitive, hunter mine?" It bites at your swollen lips before leaning back to take you in. Its touch leaves your surgery scars, instead finding ones it left on you. It worships these ones with teeth and claw, both of which have become sharper and more obvious. The lines of its body seem to melt with the shadows. 

“Veils,” you breathe and hearing its name makes a wonderful shudder run down its back. Its shoulder blades hunch, serrated in the darkness. You are throbbing in your slacks. “Veils.” You repeat, voice cracking. Are you begging? You can barely recognize your own voice.

You think your fingers are going to be cut open as you run them down its back, dipping between its edged vertebrates. You need it closer. It runs a line down the center of your chest, as if tracing out a y-incision (—and you think that might be necessary because you may die if you don’t feel more of its skin on yours). It sucks a bruise onto your throat, teeth grazing it. Your hands move up to tangle into its greying hair; its stubble is rough. You are dizzy.

“Grab the oil. Behind you.” One hand lifts your ass and the other unhooks the button of your trousers.

Your mind clears like ice water was dumped on you. You push at its chest, frozen. Shit, you hadn’t even thought Veils may think you are a biological male.

“W-wait!” You grab its wrist. You trip over your words. “I-I’m not— I don’t have— We could do it in my—”

"I know what parts you have." It snarls with a roll of its eyes, interrupting your stammering. "I clawed through your dreams. Not to mention—” A shift. A palm pressed, hard, between your legs. "I can _smell_ how wet you are. No inhuman senses needed." 

You swallow, blushing, and it continues: “But I am _larger than anything you’ve taken_.” Its voice drops, arrogant, sadistic. It gives you goosebumps. It hadn’t felt that big when you had grasped it but you feel it pressed, heavy and humid, against your thigh. 

“I’m sure I could—” you start, only to be cut off as it jerks your pants from your body. The force makes you bounce against the mattress. It leaves your socks and garters on. You think it may have a fetish. It drags a finger up your slit before stroking your cock. It gives a pleased sound when it realizes your cock is big enough for it to wrap fingers around, jerking you off. You gasp for air.

“I can usually keep myself under control.” It says, almost sheepishly, breathlessly. “But I don’t think I can with you. I’m afraid my… true nature, or what is left of it, may come out.”

Oh. That is… _hot_. “Shit.” You curse, tossing your head back. You grope for the oil where it had told you and you pass the bottle to it. It keeps stroking your cock until it coats the fingers of its other hand. Two fingers slip into you easily and it chuckles as you moan. You grind your hips against its palm, an arm around its neck. 

“I won’t be able to stop when I get into it, little rabbit. You will get the Vake, not Mr Veils.” It warns. “This is your last chance to back out.”

“I’m the only Vake Hunter to succeed. I can take you.” You smirk and it growls. The sound is feral, animalistic, and you want more of it. 

“You are… dangerous,” Veils hisses, jaw tight. Its breathing is labored, eyes dark with lust. It thrusts its fingers a bit sharper, working you open. It pants against your neck, rutting against your leg. It’s obviously trying to hold back as it gets a third finger inside of you. You are dripping and the oil makes you feel even more high-strung. 

“Hand me the bottle,” you demand weakly. 

Veils obeys and you pour some into your own palms, shifting yourself to wrap your hands around its cock. True to its warning, it feels larger now, ridged and engorged from blood. It gasps, jerking into your touch as you coat its length. 

“Any position requests?” You ask, conversationally, as if it isn’t finger-fucking you and you don’t need two hands to wrap around its cock. 

“You sure enjoy thinking you are in charge.” It grumbles. It moves faster than you thought it capable of with its gimp leg and all at once you are pressed to your back and your own legs are tossed over its shoulders. It rubs itself against your cunt, the ridges slipping past and catching on your own cock. 

Any sassy reply to it dies in your throat. “Put it in.” You hiss in pleasure. 

All of the flirty and filthy letters it had sent you had led here and you need nothing more than to feel it inside you. You remember the unhindered desire it felt for you when you hunted it, how you felt that same thing when you drank its blood. You felt its hunger and longing, and now, finally, you are below it. You feel those things, now, pulsing in its cock, burning. You need to feel it filling you to the brim, overflowing.

Gods be damned if it doesn't finish what it started.

But Veils, the Vake, the Proud-Singer, the Intriguer— it smirks with a mouthful of fangs and eyes that glint dangerously in the light. It has you were it wants you and you are at its mercy— 

“Beg.” 

You should have killed this one too.

It keeps grinding its cock against yours. Your nails dig into its shoulders and its hands on your thighs press them down so your knees are practically next to your head.

You want to tell it to fuck off, or anything else besides giving in, but the tip of its cock slips in and you see stars. “Please, Veils.” You say from between clenched teeth, meeting its eyes. “You’ve been teasing me for months with those letters. Fuck me like I know you want to.” 

It moves only slightly, pressing in just deep enough you feel the stretch you crave. Then it pulls out, tilts its head. Its eyes are glowing, bright and hungry. Your cunt throbs and you know it can feel your cock twitch. 

"I want to do more than fuck you. Fucking is what I do to any other person on the Surface when I want to get what I want. No. You are special. Strong."

You frown. It digs its nails into your thighs and rocks against you. You bite back an embarrassing loud moan. 

"I want you to belong to me. Only me. I want you to be the only one who can bring you to your knees." It leans close, right next to your ear. "I want to _own_ you. You can keep playing these games. You can keep letting people think you hold the reins. But I want you to realize: when we are alone, you are _mine_. You spared me because you are a monster too. And together, I can teach you so much." 

You shudder. A future laid out before you: Veils teaching you of the Game and the Bazaar. No secrets between the two of you. You would take its place in the Neath completely. All you have to do is listen. The two of you could be rulers, gods. You, its knight.

What harm can the Vake do when it's stuck in this human-shaped form? (Are you stupid or horny? Both?)

You have enough sense to say, "On one condition," You grind yourself against it and it slides in just a bit deeper before it tightens its grip to hold you still. It growls, eyes wild. "The other Masters are to know. They are to accept me as one of theirs." 

The tables turn. You have it pinned. Its cock pulses. It can't resist you. And just like before: a stalemate. 

Its chest rumbles with a low growl. It bares its teeth and for a moment you see the Vake and not the Intriguer. It makes heat coil in your stomach. Then— "Deal."

It's sealed with a roll of its hips. Its cock impales into you, and you moan sharply. It doesn't take long to get thick enough to spread you wide, and Veils keeps pushing. It's large and you can't stop your body from tensing around it. It pulls back, the drag of its ridges making you quiver, and then thrusts back in. It repeats this action, each thrust driving itself deeper inside you. The burn of it all only fuels the blinding pleasure. You can practically feel each texture of its cock, melting to it in the heat of your combined desire. 

Finally you feel the skin of its hips meet yours. It slips on sweat and lube and natural fluids. It stays there, filling you, for a few moments. You are sure no other cock will ever please you again, with how stretched you are. You can feel it all the way into your guts and you love it. (Are you bulging out? Maybe you’ll ask it to fuck you in front of a mirror next time so you can see the mess it makes of you.) 

When it moves again, its hip bones are sharp and each thrust knocks the wind out of you. It puts nearly all its weight on its hold on your thighs. It's not making any human sounds and you are shaking in pleasure. Bruises bloom under its hands and where its hips meet yours. 

You suddenly cum hard, nearly whiting out from the intensity. You barely had felt yourself get close. You moan out Veils' name, which only spurs it to thrust faster. 

It snarls something in what you can only recognize as the Correspondence before setting a brutal pace. You feel your whole body heat up with it. It seems to realize, belatedly, that you can’t understand. It struggles for a few moments, movements not faltering, through a few different words and languages before growling. "You feel… _intoxicating_ ," it pants, finally, pressing its face to your neck. 

You make a weak whining sound, hips jerking erratically to try and meet its movements. 

It continues, seemingly remembering how to speak English, “Better than I ever dreamed. Better than anyone else.” Its teeth brush your neck. “And you are _mine_.” A threat and a promise. 

It's using its hunting voice, loud and shrill. It's attractive to see it losing control but it also makes your ears ache. You tug it into a kiss and its fangs nick you lip. The taste of blood makes you dizzy and it takes you a moment to realize it's yours. You feel its body quiver, its own groan filling your mouth. It licks and kisses the wound desperately, and you feel its cock throb inside you. It’s a wild animal, rutting into you in a way that hits every good spot you didn’t even know you had. It feels like its cock is swelling, growing larger. 

You feel too full and yet not full enough. 

It lets go of your thighs to support itself against the bed instead. It's not as deep this way but each thrust is hard and makes you gasp. Your thighs are braced against its shoulders and you use the position to help join in with the movements. The bed creaks in protest, hitting the wall. 

You can feel how sticky your legs are and your cunt tightens. The wet noises of flesh meeting is obscene and not even your moans can cover it up. Its pace becomes more erratic as time goes, more feral. 

"Relax," it snarls. You are close again and from how labored its breathing is, it must be too.

You struggle to obey, the muscles of your cunt convulsing rapidly. You let out a whine as it adjusts itself to hit your gspot. That definitely doesn't help you relax. You tighten even more around it.

"Easy, hunter," it pants, sounding almost pained, "You're too tight. _Relax_."

You toss your head back, scratching at its back. You inhale sharply, forcing your body to ease up. It pulls its hips back, cock almost slipping out of you. It slams itself back forward, once, twice, and you feel something bulbous and hot pushing hard against you. A knot, you come to the realization slowly. 

"I can't take any more." You hiss.

"Yes, you can." It snaps, eyes wild. "If you're going to be my mate, you're going to learn to take my knot." 

It tries to push it in again and the stretch burns. You've never wanted something so bad but there is no way it can fit. Its hands find your hips, pull your ass up from the bed. 

"Inhale." It says. You obey. "Exhale." You do. "Good boy. Good, good hunter. Keep doing that." It's voice is clipped and raw. "Inhale." 

When you take the breath in, it forces your hips down against it with such vigor the exhale is bucked from your lungs. You gasp and it practically screeches. Its knot is driven into you. There's a wet popping sound and you shudder. It's hard to breathe and your cunt tries to push out the too big invasion. 

" _Fuck_ ," you hiss. You're shaking as it grinds into you. It's almost too much, almost painful. But it's so good. Yes, yes, this is how it should be: being bred like a _beast_. 

You're a monster too after all.

Its breath is hot against you, its teeth threatening to dig into your shoulders to hold you still. The pace has slowed to deep, hard, movements and you roll your hips against it. Nothing could prepare you for the rush of seed that fills you when it finally cums. It knocks you over your own precipice, orgasm making you shake with it. There's so much fluid it leaks out around its knot but it keeps grinding into you and until it's milked dry. Your abdomen aches and when your vision finally stops being blurry, its arms are trembling from effort of saying upright. 

Sweat shines on its face, eyebrows furrowed as it tries to regain itself. You reach up to push the hair from its forehead. 

"I… can't make my knot go down. We're tied for the full duration," says Veils, sheepishly.

"How lucky you are that it is me and not some random noble." You roll your eyes. 

It rolls onto its side, nearly collapsing, and tugs you with it. "A random Surfacer would never be able to see me like that." It scoffs. "Consider yourself lucky to be given such a show!" 

"You better have planned a longer stay. Your joints are going to be stiff tomorrow." 

It winces, realizing how right you are, but recovers admirably. "You'll just have to take care of me, then." 

You glare and it smirks. 


End file.
